


Snapshots of her life

by SailorStarDust1



Series: Remake: What If… [1]
Category: Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Awkward Romance, Character Study, Childhood Memories, Drama, F/M, Gen, Mutual Pining, Prompt Fic, Puppet Cloud Strife, Repressed Memories, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tifa Stan Club, Tifa Week, Tifa Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-06-29 15:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19833268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorStarDust1/pseuds/SailorStarDust1
Summary: "5 years, right?""......"Having reunited with Cloud only yesterday, today felt a good enough time as any to catch up while enjoying a quiet drink. If only Tifa could find an appropriate topic—bringing up the past just wouldn't do—considering how sickly her next-door neighbor appeared.Day 3's alternate prompt: "Locked Heart" forTifa Week 2019.





	Snapshots of her life

**Author's Note:**

> Another fan event, another Remake fic. This time for Tifa Week 2019! 
> 
> This fic lightly references some unused materials via TheLifestream: https://thelifestream.net/ffvii-the-original/ I'm especially proud how this one shaped up, so I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Many potato-sized hugs to **Caramel_Potato** for beta'ing this🥔💞

It was almost funny, how things ended up as they did. Tifa quietly drank her mug of beer, 7th Heaven closed the next 2 days. A bar stool away sat Cloud, equally quiet and simply savoring the whisky she’d prepared. Maybe _this_ was what comfortable silence felt like? Tifa was uncertain.

Already yesterday morning she had found him incoherently slumped over, at the Sector 7 train station. Midgar’s morning rush hour long ended meant few passengers were coming to and from, any civilians who did seemingly ignored the strange blonde spacing out at gathering rain puddles on the station’s mossy cobblestone pavement. That large, blood-dried, sword attached to his back certainly didn’t help the unfortunate man’s situation.

“Ah.....ahh...”

Coming back from grocery shopping for the bar, that unique sword was what gave Tifa immediate pause, recalling the young man who once wielded it. _Did he survive, back then?_

“U—ugh...Oohh.....”

Gingerly setting her shopping bags down, away from the puddles, adjusting the umbrella she held, Tifa bent down to be eye-level with the man. The slow rocking of his head and that flash of green in his eyes implied whatever his ailment was, didn’t seem to be a matter of one too many drinks, nor popping pills. 

“Ooh...aaah?”

“Hey. Are you okay?”

Cautiously grabbing the shoulders of the man’s 1st Class uniform to check his face, Tifa’s bewilderment increased with immediate recognition of her old next-door neighbor. His blue eyes seemingly long since blended in unfamiliarity with emerald-green—Mako—as if...he had made it into Soldier? But wait. Weren’t Cloud’s Mako eyes a far deeper shade than that ‘normal’ Soldier green, like Zack’s or even Sephiroth’s had been?

“...Cloud?”

The blonde blinked. Once. Twice. Immediate recognition as their eyes locked. His eyes seemed momentarily hazy, as if solely beginning to focus in on her. And only her. Whatever terror plagued his heart moments before was an unspoken nightmare.

“Uh...Tifa...?”

The train station attendant, wisely keeping distance alongside his whimpering guard dog, shook his head in secret relief that the kid seemed better.

 _So, Cloud’s alive._ But why did he seem so sickly? A mystery that Tifa had no choice but to solve. She could only hope, anyway.

“Tifa...?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, straightening, once the recognition flashed through his own strange eyes. “Long time no see, Cloud!” She forced a smile as Cloud shakily stood, dusting himself off. That large, blood-dried, sword on his back; cocky smirk playing against his lips.

And soon, they were walking off together. Side by side. Seemingly an electric current jolted between them, anytime their arms made light, innocent, contact. Brushing against the other.

Falling into conversation, she couldn’t help take his bizarre ramblings of traveling far away— _to the North? Why?_ —to heart. While the downpour surrounded them, Tifa attempted to shield that shivering young man with her umbrella. His unsettling Mako eyes glowing through the dark storm, despite Cloud’s lack of objections, and claims of “Really, Tif. I’m...fine.”, she just knew. 

Something was seriously wrong.

* * *

Walking the streets to Sector 7 (alongside each other), Cloud insistent on carrying her groceries while Tifa held the umbrella between them, it was Tifa who broke the silence. Constant pattering rain and cloudy skies—visible through evident gaps of the upper plate—left an air of gloom.

“So, umm, Cloud? What’ve you been up to, all these years?”

He shrugged, face momentarily scrunched in a flicker of pain, as if the innocent question was a sore subject. “After quitting Shinra......Mercenary work, mainly. If the price is right, then whatever people need, I help with.”

“Hmm. It suits you.” She brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I’ve been...bartending.” The specifics could wait until later. In the privacy of her closed shop, away from Shinra’s potential eyes and ears lurking in the darkness.

“Tifa. What are you doing in Midgar, anyway?”

She bit her lip despite Cloud’s own innocent-enough question, ruby eyes on the dirt-covered road ahead of them. _Take your pick._

* * *

Five years ago. 

Gasping for breath as she awoke. Her father, soaked in his own blood. The screams of friends and townspeople. The flames and the intensity of the heat...

_Where?_

Her eyes blearily opened. 

Beeping machines, an unfamiliar ceiling. This wasn’t Nibelheim.

A scream. Not her own, nor anyone else’s, judging by her room’s proximity to the others. More like...a wailing shriek, of immense, prolonged, pain? The out-of-sorts teen couldn’t possibly understand. Not yet.

Current matters. On a nightstand next to her, a fresh wallet, feminine in design, bursting with Gil, and an envelope underneath. _For your future._ Tearing it open in need of answers, immediately her eyes grew moist.

“My most precious student: If you ever return _there_ , you’ll quickly understand. Take care. From, Zangan”

* * *

Sector 7 was one of the safer neighborhoods in the Slums, despite the pollution under the plate. The owner of a little restaurant and bar, 7th Heaven, certainly needed whatever help he could get. A lifelong resident of the Sector, getting up there in years, he was more than happy to hire Tifa for a waitressing job. Recently 16, she needed a better place to stay than the technically Shinra-run hospital facilities for impoverished folks (...provided they had _some_ Gil to their name, those up top unconcerned whom care was provided to, as long as the Gil rolled in).

Tifa was completely unaware that kindhearted old man was sick. Initially suspecting foul play due to Shinra, she quickly realized that, no, the pollution of the Slums was seriously _that_ much of an issue for those with weakened immune systems. Maybe his honest desire to help her was what having an uncle or grandparent was like. Maybe it was just the culture of Sector 7, where everyone pitched in to take care of their own, like a large family. Johnny, a resident around her age, and his family were ones that pitched in to help the bar flourish, despite limited income.

The owner had given Tifa the deed to 7th Heaven on one of his “better days” (as Tifa called it, when he was able to walk without much trouble and breathe without the help of machines). All the young girl could do now, in his silent hospital room, clutching his cold hand after the life long faded from his eyes, was reflect on the past. 

With wet eyes, she couldn’t help herself think about all the people lost in her life. Her home, her family and friends. Probably Zack, too, assuming he died when fighting Sephiroth. Zangan- _sensei_ was alive...or at least until recently, judging by his letter from months prior. It was Cloud who was truly an eternal mystery. Maybe he long ago died in combat while making his way up the ranks of Soldier. She’d honestly have no way of knowing, considering his mother Claudia was one of Nibelheim’s victims.

Tifa’s grip tightened at the thought. 

“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes clenched to prevent further tears from spilling, her voice wavering. “I’ll do whatever it takes to fight for everyone’s future.”

The regulars were surprised when the shop reopened a few days later, that Tifa was behind the bar, taking orders and preparing everyone’s meals herself. But her knack in the kitchen came from an early age, thanks to her mother’s advice before passing. Her full time bartending left the regulars to look the other way. Midgar’s alcohol laws at 20 to serve and drink, the Slums would look the other way. Upper Plate laws meant little, here. The rowdier drunks caught acting fresh towards Tifa or hired help would be immediately—quite literally—kicked to the curb or sport a fresh crack across the jaw, courtesy of Tifa herself.

No time to deal with disrespect.

_Illness, again. Poor immune systems, again._

If she remembered the stories correctly, both her own mother and even her quiet next door neighbor’s father passed away, due to poor health. Nearly cracking a mug filled to the brim with frothy beer, Tifa’s hardening eyes wondered if those cases were related to Nibelheim’s Mako Reactor, up on the mountain.

* * *

Nobody questioned the barmaid’s age—a still bright-eyed 18 year old—since she seemed well put together, mature in her handling customers—joyfully chatting with those who had trouble finding work in the poverty-stricken Slum they hailed from, offering a free drink in an occasional effort to lift their spirits up—it was the least she could do. 

One of the quieter nights had passed Tifa by, ignoring the Shinra-controlled nightly news in favor of classic rock on her static-buzzed radio. She merrily hummed along, her hips swaying to the beat as she cleaned. She remembered her mom and dad would dance to that song, successfully making the young girl laugh. So many years ago, by now.

“I’m sorry, we’re already closed—Oh!”

She looked up from polishing clean the final beer mug of the evening, her outdoor “Open” sign unplugged but the indoor lights still on. Entering the bar with tired, heavy, steps was an older, black, gentleman, heaving up in his arms a brunette fair-skinned girl no more than 2 years old.

Tifa smiled gently at the apparent father and daughter, pushing the man’s gun arm—with careful precautions, _far_ away from the girl’s reach—out of her mind.

“Can I get you anything?” The young woman on that cusp between teenager and adult, at such a different life stage than this man in his 30’s—gently offered. That was just how Sector 7 was. Helping each other out. If not as family, then, as good friends—good neighbors—would expect from one another. Well after 9:00 PM, Tifa’s shop was closed early for restocking tomorrow.

“Don’t mean to bug ya since you seem closed, but uhh...” He sounded embarrassed, eyes glancing to and fro the alcohol kept behind the bar, and back to his daughter's face. 

“Da—daddy...” Her face scrunched up red, ready to burst into tears, beginning to fuss while the man rocked her back and forth. Shushing reassurances that they’d be heading home, soon. 

Tifa bit her lip, understanding, quickly pouring a chocolate milk for the brunette, and freshly brewed hot coffee for her father. “It’s on the house.”, she explained, smile as bright as the cheap fluorescent lighting illuminating the room.

The man snorted, already pushing a handful of Gil paper bills toward the bartender. “Don’t gimme that...crap.” He corrected himself mid-sentence, protective good arm around his little girl who made herself comfortable on one of the high bar stools. 

“Marlene.”, he gently nudged the now giggling girl. An early start on manners was important.

“Thank you.”, she shyly offered with gapped baby-teeth, clearly still learning how to speak, before returning to her late night dessert. Brown eyes as wide as saucers, she grew happily preoccupied with the treat, unaware of the adult conversation around her.

“Name’s Barret.” The man nodded appreciatively. 

“Tifa.” While Tifa offered a hand to shake, the man’s grip—his arm still protectively wrapped around Marlene—was firm. Full of quiet confidence. 

She found herself lost in thought, wondering what it would’ve been like, had her own father survived. Would they have moved to Midgar, together? Did he have enough clout as Nibelheim’s Mayor to easily afford fancy housing on the upper plates? Certainly Shinra wouldn’t have been interested in a random civilian such as himself...

“New to Midgar?” _If_ they needed a place to stay, she had a spare room upstairs. A simple, no customers allowed, layout composing of two rooms with the bare essentials of furniture, single dressers and stacked mattresses—one bedroom hers—and a personal bathroom.

“Nah. We’ve been in town for about...a year, now?” Brows furrowed in memory, his fingers drummed against the countertop in time to the bouncy guitar tune wafting from the radio. 

“We’re livin’ over in Sector 6. Marlene just loves the park, there.”

Affectionately rubbing the hair of the giggling girl who otherwise quietly enjoyed her milk, Barret muttered, “Was doin’ some investigatin’, but it’s not easy with the little one in tow when it’s _way_ past her bedtime. Jessie and them were researching, so they couldn’t look after her tonight.”

“Hmm. A girlfriend?” Tifa took a seat next to the man, waving at the little girl on the opposite side of Barret. She happily waved back at her and Daddy’s new friend, chocolaty mouth all grins.

He guffawed at the mere idea—Tifa only now foolishly took notice of the man’s prominent wedding band. “Nah, strictly business.” Chuckling, his brown eyes briefly flashed with a fire that Tifa all too easily recognized in herself. His subtle implication made sense, now.

“Sector 7 has so much to offer, I’m not surprised you lost track of time.” She began carefully, feeling out what wrongdoings Shinra had thrust upon his own family and friends. “But if you ever need some time to think, I’d be happy to look after Marlene?” A genuine offer of kindness.

A slow nod, considering. “Corel.” was muttered in between sips of his steaming plain coffee.

Corel Village. Tifa read in the papers about an out of control fire that ended in tragedy. Clearly some other manufactured lie on Shinra’s part. Nibelheim the year before had been mostly swept under the rug out of sheer company embarrassment, despite the occasional article framing things as ‘tragic’. Anything to paint President Shinra and his lapdogs in a good light.

Tifa opened her mouth to explain her own story. Finger tracing her engraved gauntlets, ancestral Nibel Runes of encouragement. Most—especially in Midgar—spoke and wrote in Standard. And yet, no words came. Who would believe her, after all, that Shinra had been unable to save rather than slaughter? Momentarily, she wondered what the Wutai War must’ve been like, for both sides of such meaningless carnage. 

_There was no point to any of it. War. Soldier. Shinra_.

Instead, Tifa let out a tired sigh that equated the man’s weary eyes. If something big could be accomplished, something to turn the tide against Shinra and empower the poor suffering below, then...

“What are you planning?” Her voice grew low. She already weighed her options ever since first waking up in town, frightened and alone. Finally meeting other hearts burning in quiet revenge, this new path opening up couldn’t be ignored. “...I’m listening.”

Barret shifted closer, beginning to explain, in hushed tones.

* * *

“Good job, guys. Let’s call it a day.” 

Pleased, she passed around ice-cold water bottles to a sweat-drenched Jessie and company. Biggs and Wedge, flat-out heaving, _especially_ looked like they were going to drop face first onto the gym mat. Still, she couldn’t help take personal pride in everyone’s hard work. All thanks to their intense workouts sprinkled in with a little bit of self defense training. 

Barret continued busying himself with the punching bag recently installed in 7th Heaven’s secret basement, especially grateful to Tifa providing a hidden, safe, location they could strategize various means to bring Shinra down. 7th Heaven long closed for the night, 4-year old Marlene was peacefully tuckered out, upstairs in Tifa’s spare room.

Soon to be 20, Tifa’s skills had sharpened over the years. On those weeknights when the bar was closed, she’d teach poverty-stricken Slum folk—regardless of what Sector they hailed from—how to protect themselves from trash and pickpockets. Wall Market was an especially dangerous area if one was out past respectable hours.

Avalanche simply had to bide their time, all Jessie could do was continue research on potential—albeit unconventional—methods. Extreme measures were something nobody quite stomached, unless push came to shove. 

Mostly like, that shove would come from Barret himself. That strong father figure Tifa otherwise lacked in such formative years.

* * *

“What I’m doing in Midgar...Well, which part do you want to know? It’s kind of a long story.”

Angling her umbrella so the sideways rain wouldn’t hit either of them, Tifa let out a frustrated sigh, blowing some hair out of her face in the process.

Her fatigued expression not escaping Cloud’s notice, all he could awkwardly offer was, “Bad topic? Sorry.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry.” Polite in turn while shaking her head, she smiled to signify it was alright. Her open hand began absentmindedly playing with her Bomb and Chocobo charms. Quelling her anxious heart.

“So...” Scratching the back of his head, he seemingly unsure how to broach the subject. “5 years, right? I still can’t believe...—huh?” Trailing off and realizing Tifa stopped in her tracks, Cloud readjusted the grocery bags in his arms. With raised eyebrows, he patiently waited—since she led the way home, after all. 

According to Tifa, not at all far from the train station.

“......” Biting her lip, Tifa stared at the dirt path clear of junk that’d otherwise block the Sector.

 _It’s been 7._ Memories of those blazing hot flames beginning to engulf homes, she’d been barely aware, seeing red—not just due to the blood of some townspeople and friends. Rushing for the reactor, her father in a puddle of his own blood, with chilled realization...

“...Tifa?”

Looking up and meeting Cloud’s utterly confused glowing eyes, all the pale-faced Tifa could do was react with a fake smile. The nightmare-inducing memories. The screams.

“Right. 5 years.”

* * *

Sitting in her bar, present day, Tifa couldn’t help her furtive, worried glances in Cloud’s direction. Ultimately she was right, as her friend finished off his last traces of whisky, this silence between them felt anything _but_ comfortable. There were many questions that Tifa wanted to ask, yet so many were truths she was terrified of bringing front and center to their reality.

Both having slept in late the night before (exhausted from the depressing rainy weather and personal stresses), they spent today preparing and cleaning for the bar’s reopening in a few day’s time. It _was_ nice having someone taller than her to help clean the hard-to-reach years of collected dust on the countertops and ceiling fans. Besides, the company overall was genuinely pleasant, Cloud made an effort to help—even move some of the furniture—however requested. 

Occasionally (maybe Cloud was just tired? Tifa didn’t exactly know.), he’d snark at her, purely arrogant about his former rank, although her offering an annoyed quip would cause realization to flicker in those startled Mako eyes, an apology immediately escaping Cloud’s lips. 

More often than not, taking a break from helping with this task or that, he’d quietly stare at her. Quickly averting his gaze when she’d notice, yet realizing he’d been admiring her hair or the sway of her hips whenever she’d occasionally, rhythmically, dance to the music—she was pleasantly surprised by his offhand comment that he remembered her piano lessons. Had Cloud checked out Tifa’s...large assets...she hadn’t noticed. 

He’d probably been more subtle in _that_ regard, not that Tifa would necessarily blame Cloud when he...grew up incredibly handsome, himself. Maybe a little _too_ skinny for her liking. She remembered visibly frowning about how malnourished he appeared last night, ribs nearly sticking out above his boxers despite somewhat muscular arms. She wondered how his hair looked, damp from a shower, without his usual spikes. Just how far it’d fall against his shoulders? Heart skipping a beat, she handed her friend fresh pajamas from Johnny’s family, offering to do Cloud’s laundry. Embarrassed, he mumbled that lately, he’d been _way_ too busy to get a good meal in. Tifa then and there made a mental note to cook whatever hearty meals he’d request—even whatever he didn’t.

His fatigue and occasional moody behavior was certainly abnormal, but there was nothing Tifa could do. Medical care in the Slums was either terribly expensive—from personal experience—or nonexistent. Besides, Cloud’s bold claims of being Ex-Soldier 1st Class meant Tifa preferred (quietly, subtly) protecting Cloud from Shinra’s grasp however she could. For now. 

She scooted back her stool with a loud _screech_ to wordlessly freshen his glass. The least she could do for an old friend...They _did_ play together as children...didn’t they? Living next door to each other and all.

Tifa found herself lost in thought again, her eyes on Cloud again, busying herself as she finished preparing his second glass.

“Last one for tonight okay? It’s not that I mind, but...I need some rest, soon.”

A nod. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

It’s not like she could _question_ why Cloud was acting so sickly. Some kind of light twitching—seizures, perhaps?—would happen whenever she’d, since yesterday, cautiously bring up their childhood. Yet her hands lightly touching his shoulder seemed to bring Cloud back to reality, trembling and wide-eyed surprise almost immediately subsiding. 

At least whatever he suffered from, there was _something_ about her presence that soothed him. Probably their familiarity with one another. Understandable, since they were neighbors. Whether or not they played together, did homework together...her childhood was naturally fuzzy enough with their village’s traumatic razing. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Whatever she could do to help an old friend, she would.

She had to keep their shared past in mind. Convince him to stay, somehow. Especially due to yesterday, en route from the train station, Cloud’s weird talk about traveling far North.

Glowing Mako eyes seemed to catch hers—in confusion—because Tifa’s face burned bright red while handing him his drink.

“Here you go.”, mumbling, Tifa returned to her seat, still a comfortable distance away. Previously unfinished cool beer burning her throat was satisfying. _At any rate, Cloud’s okay. He’s_ alive _. He_ has _to be okay, because if he’s not……_

There was nothing to remember Nibelheim by. Nothing to connect their past together. Nothing to show they defied the odds of a complete tragedy, and _lived_.

Now...what was a safe topic for them to talk about, together... 

Rather than the usual classic rock, today the radio played a Blues station. The less Tifa would be forced to see President Shinra’s ugly mug on the TV, the better for her own sanity—and Cloud’s.

“I couldn’t find you in the papers. I read them every morning.”

“...Huh?” He looked up from his drink, an eyebrow quirked.

Tifa smiled. “About a backwater kid reaching 1st Class? There weren’t many articles about that sort of thing.” The only article Tifa _did_ stumble across one morning, enjoying her tea, toast and scrambled eggs, well, that was a cheerful young man she’d eventually she meet alongside Sephiroth.

Thankfully, Cloud didn’t seem bothered by the topic. Shrugging his shoulders while savoring his second, final, glass of the night. “It _was_ a hard rank to get into. Limited to a handful, these days. I remember when we were kids, hearing during the war that it used to be about 20, but the numbers...quickly dwindled.”

“War is pure Hell, isn’t it? And Soldier.” Tifa’s smile grew bitter. “Besides, didn’t Shinra have Sephiroth, back then?”

“About that...” Cloud’s expression grew troubled, face hardening in pure anger.

 _No, not even anger._ Tifa realized, _Burning hatred._

“I have to search for Sephiroth.”

Tifa gave a start. “Wh—Sephiroth’s _alive_?”

“Dunno. If he’s dead, that’s fine. But if he’s alive...I have to settle things.”

 _Cloud…What do you mean?_ Tifa blinked. “Settle...things?”

“5 years ago, in Nibelheim. Our hometown, he...”

Tifa had no response for _that_. Something far too painful to openly discuss. “.....”

Cloud’s eyes met hers, full of that fire she was used to seeing in herself. Barret, too, and their friends in Avalanche. “Don’t you feel the same, Tifa? You went through something horrible.”

“.....” Pale with no words forming, Tifa’s hand immediately rested atop her deep scar, hidden by her tank top and black sports bra. Was her _own_ memory faulty? None of this was added up!

Whisky already downed, Tifa’s ears filled with the sound of Cloud’s chair loudly screeching back, spikes of blonde hair and his quiet breathing suddenly filling her senses.

“Wha—” She was _definitely_ taken aback that Cloud moved to the stool next to her own, even more so when she felt his calloused, warm, hand abruptly capturing her’s.

“Does it hurt?” A serious question, albeit brimming with deep-seated anger about the nasty scar across her chest, well-hidden within her clothes.

Tifa couldn’t help gulp at extreme concern written all over Cloud’s face. How close he sat with a hand—protectively—holding hers. At least he wasn’t hiding his emotions, playing things off cool and uncaring (not that his weird act affected her!), yet... 

“N-not usually? If I worked an especially late shift, sure, I get body aches including _there_ , but...”

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, Cloud’s tight (but not painful) grip on Tifa’s hand released, lightly falling into his lap. 

“Huh, denim? Dunno why I thought Soldier would use something else.” She momentarily seemed surprised at the material, lightly poking his knee before her hand returned to the top of the bar stool.

He was slowly exhaling through his nose, managing to chuckle at her intrigue about his uniform. She always did know how to calm him. “Sorry. I just...” Cloud sighed. “You get it, don’t you?”

“I get it.” Tifa nodded, unable to take her eyes off his. Bad timing to ask that request already formulating internally. A two birds with one stone situation, really. Cloud earning extra Gil on the side while suggesting Avalanche's upcoming Reactor job. She could only hope Barret would be amiable to the hired help, whenever Jessie and company felt the bomb and security codes were well-enough researched.

The barmaid would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit her curiosities were peaked. Maybe she’d humor him with this whole Soldier shtick he threw her way. Maybe he knew _something_.

“Hey, Cloud? 1st Classes knew the lower ranks pretty well, right?”

“Mh...” He scanned the memory banks while scratching the back of his spiky locks. “Well enough. Why?”

“Well, there _was_ this one guy. Maybe you saw him around? He...wasn’t in Soldier, but I definitely remember him keeping an eye on me. Back then.” Openly laughing in remembrance, Tifa adjusted her skort while sitting, her hidden shorts maintaining modesty underneath. “He was kind, but so dutiful in making sure I kept my nose out of Shinra’s secrets. He’d barely say a word; it kinda reminded me of—” 

_You, Cloud._ Tifa’s cheeks faintly reddened while continuing, “W-Well...A crush of mine. Umm, who knows if this guy actually survived Nibelheim, but something inside tells me I should th—”

She must’ve imagined that flicker of a bizarrely jealous and barely quelled fire within his glowing eyes, or those sword-calloused hands practically pulling Tifa away from her seat into his lap, and especially her own eyes widening at the realization of his lips hungrily kissing hers.

Yet their kiss was 100% real. As real as his hands tangling into her chocolate-brown locks, her ruby eyes softly closing despite that frightening intensity of his Mako-blue—thankfully following suit in fluttering closed—his increasingly deepening, greedily exploration her accepting mouth, her faintly-crimson cheeks and private embarrassments completely erasing the memory of whatever she’d attempted asking a moment ago.

Cloud shifted their position slightly, pulling her closer, Tifa moaning loudly in shocked realization what pressed against the hem of her skirt. Never would she have expected Cloud as the one to become so aroused, let alone from a frankly amateur makeout session like this.

“...Tifa...”, he moaned, lips capturing her neck at the beginning of a deep love-bite, before her cherry-cola eyes widened— _just what she was_ doing _with an old, dear, friend_? Especially when neither seemed in any real hurry to stop their roaming hands or increasingly loud moans. Tifa shivered at the idealization of them together moaning for very _different_ reasons in her room upstairs, bedsheets and clothes hastily crumpled on wooden floorboards, before ice-cold realization hit her. 

“Wa—Wait, Cloud!”, she breathlessly panted into the top of his hair before he gradually straightened in confusion with heavy-lidded eyes, hands lightly holding either of her defined biceps. 

Selfishly, she didn’t want to leave her comfortable position in his lap, regardless of his somewhat embarrassing arousal still pressing against her. Wanting to savor the moment—she’d blame the alcohol, despite both damn well knowing the brew was barely strong—Tifa’s back shifted into Cloud’s chest. She marveled at his wordlessly tangling her hair—less impassioned, this time—marveled how they seemingly fit perfectly against one another in their embrace.

“I didn’t realize Ex-Soldiers were so horny!”, she laughed, feebly attempting to catch her breath. At Cloud’s lack of response, Tifa’s cheeks still flushed despite her usual shyness finally taking a backseat. In a surprisingly blunt show of genuine amusement and private happiness, she shook her head and happily quipped, “ _That_ was a hell of a first kiss.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Cloud’s hands now loosely encircled her waist, hiding complete disbelief with an audible snort. “Didn’t you have lots of boyfriends, growing up?”

Tifa burst out laughing. “I’ve barely had a day off to myself the past month, let alone when I was busy with homework, piano practice, and martial arts training!” Her voice quieted, growing serious at the forever painful memories. The heat of the flames. “And then...”

Once again, his own blunt response: “I thought you were going to die.”

Visibly flinching, Tifa again reached for her unseen scar, going as far as opening her mouth to reply, “ _How_?”, yet...She wisely kept quiet. His strange headaches and minor seizures ever since yesterday were the last thing either of them needed, right now. Not something to ruin this surprising measure of peace they finally gained—together.

Reluctantly sliding off Cloud’s lap to set her empty bottle and his glass in the sink—she was tired, she’d clean them in the morning—instead, she offered a vague comment about his strange attitude problems. Not that the kiss counted. “...It’s not like you.”

“Sorry.” Immediately, a nod and an honest apology. At least his sincerity easily melted her heart. Tifa wryly smiled; she’d have to be careful with him.

Although it _was_ already 1 AM. At this rate, Tifa would have a hard time getting enough sleep...but, that kiss certainly made any lack of sleep totally worth it.

“We’re opening again the night after tomorrow, so I’ll be triple-checking our inventory one last time.” Forcing a smile despite honest friendliness, Tifa nodded towards the liquor behind the bar, “If you want to help yourself some more, no worries. It won’t hurt my costs that much.”

“Wait. I need to know something.” Hand gently catching her wrist, there was complete confusion in his tired eyes, “Why have you been avoiding me since yesterday?”

With widening eyes, her heart began thumping. “I...haven’t been.” Was it loud enough for Cloud to hear? Nervously, she began absentmindedly playing with the charms on her outfit. 

“...Tifa.” Clearly frustrated, Cloud let go of her wrist. Rather than his bizarre, possessive, jealousy from a moment before, he appeared...honestly hurt? As if wanting to ask, _Weren’t we old friends?_

And yet, Tifa would’ve been uncertain how to respond, had he openly asked. Something about that didn’t seem...right...in her memories, but their fuzzily-recalled childhood was _so many_ long years ago. Maybe they _were_ as close as he’d off-hand commented on, Tifa coaching his piano lessons when he’d visit from next door, but...Tifa couldn’t quite recall him ever hanging out with her small group of friends? Long after Mama’s spirit journeyed beyond Mount Nibel into unseen, deep, mists. Cloud had been truly lucky; to have a Mama of his own, despite losing his father when little. Those illnesses that would occasionally plague their quiet farming village, all ‘thanks’ to that damned Mako Reactor.

Wel, Dan, and Meiday probably long settled into whatever Midgar jobs they insisted on finding, 7 long years ago. Any means of touching base with those old friends, or any remaining—living—family contacts, long ago went up in smoke with the fire. 

It was, in fact, Cloud who stood out, with bold idealistic teenage claims of joining Soldier, her shyly offering the idea of a promise—she _vaguely_ recalled how avoidant Cloud seemed after Mama died, but was uncertain why. It’d been a childish excuse, honestly—their promise at the water tower simply a means to understand her next door neighbor just a little better. Despite his apparent hesitation, she was happily shocked when Cloud so amicably agreed—he’d be her hero whenever she was in a bind—glittering starlight above sealing their promise that chilly December night.

“Look.” Cautiously, now Tifa stood next to him as he continued to sit. She glanced at the wall clock, frowning at just how late it really _was_ getting. 

Clearing her throat, she nonchalantly shrugged. Not as unfeeling as Cloud would be about it—that just wasn’t her style. “You...seem really tired ever since yesterday's commotion. So I’m giving you some space.”

Another white lie, another half-truth mixed with honest concern. But it couldn’t be helped, this uncertainty gnawing in her heart regarding _what_ exactly made him act so strange. So, another white lie to add to an eventual pile was safe enough, right? Now, how to convince her old neighbor to stay, so she could ensure he wouldn’t endanger himself or anyone else. How _could_ she, when bringing up— _“Hey, Cloud! Why are you sick?”_ —his evident illness was simply out of the question? She needed more time to think.

“...I’m sorry.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling, eyes shut. “I _am_ tired.” Admitting a problem was the first step, at least, wasn’t it?

“Nothing to apologize for.” Tifa wryly smiled, “But we _have_ been drinking.”

He crossed his arms, leaning against the bar countertop next to Tifa, smirking. Their arms brushing, again, from such proximity, Tifa silently delighted in the feel of his skin close to hers. He still smelled fresh, thanks to his shower the night before. Maybe a faint whiff of Mako, but...oddly comforting rather than off-putting, mixing in with Cloud’s natural scent. Purely _him_.

“That was barely strong!”

“Oh, whatever!” She rolled her eyes during brief, bellowing, laughter. Lightly punching his shoulder for good measure as he began laughing, too. Something about his gentle teasing...felt good. Natural. 

Cloud opened his mouth, but whatever words he formed immediately died on his lips once Tifa’s own pressed against his cheek. 

“Good night, Cloud.” A quick, gentle, kiss in thanks for...Tifa wasn’t exactly sure what, anymore.

As she hastily bounded up the stairs to her room, Cloud blinked, silently watching Tifa’s retreating back, fingers lightly caressing the cheek she kissed.

* * *

Tifa’s eyes blearily opened around a half hour later, from sudden knocking at her door. Rolling over, groaning slightly into her pillow pressed against her face, she offered a muffled response: “Bathroom’s down the hall. Your room’s the next one over. Remember, where your giant sword is resting against one of the walls?”

Sitting at the foot of her bed after quietly opening the door, Cloud shook his head, holding back a chuckle. “That’s not it.” His voice was gentle, somewhat slurred. He smelled faintly of a third or even a fourth well-paced glass. Nothing terribly excessive. At least he didn’t reek of her good product.

Tifa rubbed her eyes, simple white nightgown falling against her shoulders while stretching upwards. Cloud’s eyes seemed fixed at her chest, but she said nothing regarding that. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you, I just...”

“Can’t sleep?” Her tired smile was kind, with half-laughter dancing in her eyes. Her dark bedroom barely illuminated due to that upper steel plate blocking out the stars, the moonlight. Things that Tifa desperately missed, ever since her impromptu ‘move’ to Midgar.

Strangely, Cloud’s eyes provided some semblance of a faint nightlight. Nothing to fear about him, _because_ it was him.

“Well...What’s on your mind, Tifa? I feel like I’ve been doing all the talkin’ since I made it into town.”

Taken aback, she blinked. “ _Me_? Uh...not much, really?” _A lot, actually._ He needn’t be worried despite her gentle deflections. Cloud evidently had much heavier topics weighing on his mind.

“So, umm...about...earlier.” He seemed unable to meet her eyes, glancing at the wall, the floor, anywhere but her. “The...interest.”

Tifa shifted about uncomfortably as she sat upright, leaning back into her pillow, hands playing with the fabric of her comforter. Talking to him when she should be resting—so vulnerable, in her nightgown—felt a little strange, yet...For all of Cloud’s mental failings (nothing that she blamed him for), she instinctively knew he was that trustworthy boy from her youth.

“Mh, the...interest.” Tifa nodded, repeating the phrase, simply unable to word things any other way. She forced herself to—quite seriously—meet his gaze, intently holding it. Unsurprisingly, Cloud didn’t back down from her stare, despite a slight flicker of confusion.

“Look, Cloud? I...just need some time. Just give me a little more time.” 

“Alright.” The blonde seemed to take her words at face value, nodding. Whether or not he grasped Tifa’s deeper meaning, well...time would certainly tell, wouldn't it?

Closing the physical distance between them, this time, Cloud’s lips softly pressed against Tifa’s flushed-from-warmth forehead. 

“Cl—Cloud?!” She sat there with mouth agape, a little stunned. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to lightly smack him due to his ignoring a prior request, or aggressively pull him into her lonely bed for a tighter than tight embrace.

Truthfully, the latter sounded like a _much_ nicer way to spend their evening.

“Good night.” He stood, Tifa swearing she noticed faint, self-satisfactory, traces of a smirk. 

His hand on the door with his eyes downcast, as if something new occurred to him, he mumbled, “Really, Tif. Thanks again.” _How can I repay her? Was_ that _the best way, since I can’t, erm, financially?_ His current funds were embarrassingly nonexistent. 

All Tifa could do was groan, loudly into her pillow while listening to his retreating footsteps and his room next door gently shutting closed.

_Tomorrow over coffee and late breakfast? That’s when I’ll gauge his interest about our upcoming Avalanche job._

Certainly it was important, but protecting everybody—her friends in the Slums—the brawler was in a huge bind in handling everything seemingly alone, Barret’s reasons for forming Avalanche back in the day, his own story to someday explain. 

At the very least, Cloud already seemed more than agreeable with helping around the bar, fetching whatever urgent supplies she’d need, whenever she needed them. Maybe Mr. Ex-Soldier would help as extra muscle towards those rowdier customers. 

According to some of Wedge’s intel, the Loveless theater in downtown Sector 8 could have some sketchy—Shinra-related—characters roaming about. Maybe in a few day’s time, she could investigate with Cloud in tow. Still. The house lights dimming as the rousing stirrings of an orchestra picked up, their shoulders and knees bumping, sitting side by side in a cramped space and decked out in fancy clothes, able to smell one another’s musky perfumes...Tifa audibly gulped at the thought. 

Yawning thickly, Tifa’s eyelids grew heavy, sleep’s pleasant lull claiming her. Whatever happened in the immediate and far future, she’d take things as she always had. One step at a time with one foot confidently in front of the other. With her friends near, she knew they’d find a way to ensure a bright future for everyone in the Slums. And maybe even one day—somehow—for Gaia itself.

**Author's Note:**

> _"But, Tifa......But you said, 'Long time no see, Cloud' right? Those words will always support me."_
> 
> I might've mentioned this in another fic, but Tifa's JP lines in the Remake E3 trailer (where she tells Cloud she "feels trapped" in the English version), in fact references their promise: "I'm in a bind/in trouble" (literally "in a pinch"). Similarly, when she says "My turn!" in English, she's actually saying "I'll protect you!" in Japanese (To Cloud? The traincar passengers?).
> 
> Hopefully, in-game context will have things make a bit more sense (or we—hopefully—won't end up with Advent Children "dubtitles" for JP-audio translated subtitles), but I'll personally be playing with Japanese audio regardless ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
